


Eastwards

by Starclove



Series: And Back Again [2]
Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Angst, Domestic, Gen, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 20:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13531824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starclove/pseuds/Starclove
Summary: Sanzo is the only one holding nothing.





	Eastwards

**Author's Note:**

> Again, much thank you to imaginary_dragonling for the beta.  
> Last touched by me, therefore all remaining bads are mine.

“ _Ghosts?_ ”

“Indeed, sonny.” The old man's head wobbled dangerously on his scrawny neck; it made Goku half–afraid it would fall off entirely. “They haven't been trouble yet, but people don't want wanna wait for anything to happen, you know? Especially not when we're talking about _youkai._ ”

“We're not asking for much, really,” the younger man sitting at Goku's elbow added. “Only that the Lord Sanzo purify and bless the lands around here. It'd be a relief.” He smiled and held out a hand. “Name’s Chandra, and this here’s Dolkar.”

Goku shook the proffered hand and smiled politely into his mug. He resisted the urge to push his overlong hair back from his eyes. The two men had been at him almost from the moment they saw him accompany Sanzo into the small inn where they were now renting a room. Sanzo had gone upstairs immediately after getting their room key and threatening death on anyone who bothered him, but he'd left with Goku the gold card and several instructions, which was the only reason why he was down here in the common room at all.

He felt a sudden urge to run and leave all this _negotiation_ business to someone whom he knew to be more capable, but that time had long since passed. “I can ask him,” he said carefully, “but I can't say for sure he'll say yes. I do gotta ask, though, that you don’t tell anyone else that we’re here.” _Be polite, Goku; it'll get you far._ “I’m sorry, but Sanzo’s not… he’s very tired.”

“Oh, of course.” Dolkar smiled in understanding; his head wobbled again, more dangerously than before.

“I oughta bring him some food now. He hasn't had anything to eat since lunch, and it's almost midnight. Please excuse me.” He drained his mug and hurried away.

Sanzo was sitting at a table by the window, smoking, when Goku arrived at their room with a tray full of small servings of this and that. He barely glanced at the food as Goku carefully arranged plates and bowls on the table, staring instead at the dark–blotted view outside. At length, he turned from the window to stub out his cigarette. “Anything about the road ahead?” he asked as Goku scooped some rice into his bowl.

Goku placed the bowl and a pair of chopsticks in front of Sanzo and reached for a meat bun. “The locals were asking if y'could cleanse and bless the area,” he answered, chewing slowly. “Said they had a few hundred _youkai_ turn up dead on the road one day, and then ghosts came. _Youkai_ ghosts.”

“Ghosts.” Sanzo's voice was flat.

“They're going to send a few people to, uh, escort us to the next village over.” Goku paused and stared at the half-eaten bun in his hands. “It's probably not so bad; they'll spare some food and supplies for you for sure. An' you wouldn't have to eat nothin' but dried yak jerky for a few days.” He spooned something of ginger and chicken one–handed into Sanzo's bowl with a silent urge to eat more, and took another bite of the bun in his other hand.

“I assume they're going to insist on… _escorting_ us.”

“Prob'ly.”

Sanzo made a rude noise in his throat. “Trying to convince them not to come along will probably be more of a pain in the ass and a waste of time besides.” They ate in silence, then, until Sanzo pushed his bowl away. “You can finish this yourself; I'm going to bed.”

The food, while delicious, felt like it was missing something ( _a little too much oil, could use a bit more salt, slightly overcooked_ ). Goku ate slowly and methodically and sipped the tea that had cooled down to warm ( _needs a squeeze of lime, maybe a touch of mint_ ) that had accompanied the food. He was stacking the used utensils on the tray ( _please don't cause unnecessary trouble for the proprietor of the establishment, Goku_ ) when something in the street outside caught his eye.

A figure of a tall, wiry man stood stock–still in the middle of the street some distance away, his back to the window, staring up at the veiled moon, as if in admiration. He swayed and tottered to one side and caught himself with a hand on the stone façade of a building. Goku watched with a detached fascination as the man stumbled on and away down the street, shoulder–length hair swaying with each unsteady step, its colour leached away by the dim moonlight. He barely registered the faint, muted cry that echoed through the sky as the man passed the mouth of an alley, taking a staggering step just inside—

—and a hand with long, thin fingers and long, sharp _talons_ reached out from within the darkness to slash at his face.

Goku stifled a gasp as the man shrieked, the noise ringing through the emptiness of the streets. He threw open the window and leapt out, narrowly missing the towering stacks of plates and bowls, which rattled in the wake of his haste. He barely felt the hard ground beneath his bare feet as he bolted towards the alley, yelling.

He skidded to a halt just behind the man, who had not moved from where he'd fallen, just in front of the alley. Goku couldn't see anything of the man's face for the length of his hair hiding it, but he grabbed the man's shoulders and shook him. “Are you okay, G—” The word died on his lips as the man turned to face him, eyes wide and white and frightened.

“G—ghost,” the man stammered, almost hysterical. “It's the mad ghost!” He clung to Goku, who blankly noted— now that he was close enough— that the man's face was smooth and unmarred by claw–marks or blood or scars or anything else, and that he really wasn't that much taller than Goku.

“You all right?” Goku felt suddenly numb as he helped the man up, ignoring the reek of alcohol and worse. “Y'should go home. Where do you live?” He waited for the drunk to regain his balance, still holding him up by the shoulders, but the man took a closer look at him, saw the glint of the the limiter nestled in his hair, and made a strangled noise of fright. Goku dropped his hands to his sides and took a step back as the man staggered away; then, he turned around and trudged slowly back to the inn, his eyes fixed on the ground just in front of his feet.

Sanzo was in his chair by the open window when Goku returned to the dimly–lit room. He didn't turn from the window as Goku scraped the soles of his dirty, sandy feet on top of the other in turns just outside the doorway. Goku knew he looked pathetic just then. Hell, he _felt_ pathetic.

“What happened?”

He shook his head. “I thought it was a _youkai_ attack, I saw—” He shook his head again. He rubbed the tops of his feet against the backs of his ankles to dislodge the accumulated grit and stepped into the room. “The guy thought he saw a ghost,” he continued lamely, closing the door. “Sorry for disturbing you.”

“Goku. Look at me.”

It took some effort, but Goku made himself raise his face to look at Sanzo, whose expression was unreadable as he took in Goku's face. He shifted from foot to dirty foot, trying not to look away, as Sanzo took his time staring.

“Have you been thinking of that moron again?”

Goku flinched and dropped his eyes. He thought of saying no; _no, I wasn't thinking of anyone else, I was just worried about some drunk guy who thought he'd been clawed in the face by the ghost of a_ youkai. It wasn't as if Sanzo could read his mind, anyway, if he lied. But Sanzo knew him too well; he could see Goku's face just fine, and Goku had never been good at keeping his thoughts from showing in his face.

“It's been years, Goku,” Sanzo said brusquely. “He's forgotten us, probably shacked up with some barmaid somewhere. He was never _with_ us, otherwise he wouldn't have left. Stop being attached to someone who doesn't give a shit about you.” He reached for his box of cigarettes and turned back to the window. “Go to bed.”

“Okay,” Goku whispered. He washed his feet in the bathroom and changed into a pair of shorts and a slightly oversized black tee, then folded his day clothes lengthwise and hung them off the back of an unoccupied chair. He crawled under the sheets and clutched the pillow tightly, pressing his face into it and desperately not thinking of laughing red eyes or small, kind smiles.

 

“It's one of the privileges of his station, Goku,” Hakkai was saying. He was seated on one end of the bed, with Jeep curled in his lap and Gojyo beside him. Goku was sitting cross–legged on the floor at Gojyo’s feet, looking up at them both. “He can be as disagreeable as he wants to,” Hakkai continued, “and people will still show him respect because he's a sanzo.” His long fingers ran through Jeep’s soft mane; the little dragon cooed contentedly and nuzzled at his arm. Hakkai pursed his lips, and his green eyes twinkled mischievously. “Of course, that doesn't mean that they’ll _like_ him. There's a big difference.” Gojyo laughed uproariously.

“Yeah, did you think people would give any of us the time of day if we weren't hanging around him?” Gojyo ruffled Goku's hair, chuckling. “See, that’s how the world goes; I'm just a punk, and you're just a monkey—”

“I am _not_ a _monkey_!”

“—ain't nobody gonna _give_ us any respect, not like Lord Cherry and his princess–y crown. S'why you and I haveta work to get the ladies' attention instead of just waltzing up to them and asking if they wanted to come home with.” The chuckle subsided into a playful grin. “Want another example? Look at Hakkai here. Did you think people won't run screaming from him if he weren't so damned _polite_?”

“Gojyo,” Hakkai murmured.

“Hey, I didn’t say you were _nice_ about it.”

“Gojyo.”

“I didn't say it was _bad_ , either. You do you, buddy; I'll do me. _And_ the ladies.”

“ _Gojyo!_ ” But Hakkai was smiling, and Gojyo was laughing, and everything was all right.

 

He woke with what felt like sand in his eyes. Sanzo was already up, gazing out of the window at the lightening sky outside, a cigarette in hand. Goku stretched and yawned. “You shoulda woken me up,” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes to unstick them.

“I couldn't sleep. That doesn't mean you shouldn't.” There was a book on the table, something with the word _Philosophy_ in the title. Sanzo's reading glasses were folded on top of it. The ashtray was full of cigarette butts.

Goku padded over to the table sleepily and emptied the ashtray into the wastebasket, then put it back more or less where it had been. He stumbled into the bathroom and emerged a few minutes later, dressed in light clothes that looked like they had belonged to someone else. He dug around in yesterday's trousers for the gold card and turned to Sanzo. “D'you want anything for breakfast? The meat–and–cabbage thing they make is pretty good.”

“No, just get me something for lunch later. And more cigarettes.” Sanzo lit another stick and put on his glasses. “See if we can leave tomorrow.” He picked up the book and started leafing through it.

“Okay.” Goku gathered their soiled clothes and folded them into the laundry bag. He took it down to the innkeeper's wife, a portly lady who promised to have them brought back as soon as possible. Their niece, a slight girl who seemed to be a little younger than Goku, brought him a plate piled high with bread, a bowl of soup and some tea. He thanked her profusely with a wide grin that made her blush prettily and smile right back.

With breakfast done, Goku went to look for the two men who had accosted him last evening. It turned out that he didn't have to go looking after all; he ran into them at the front door to the inn as they were coming in. They pretended to be surprised at the coincidence, and he pretended not to notice their subterfuge. They all went back into the common room and sat at the table that Goku had vacated not two minutes ago; the remains of his breakfast was still there. Dolkar made small talk while Chandra fetched drinks, and they beat around the bush for a while before getting down to business.

“So, sonny,” Dolkar began with a hopeful, toothless smile, “has the Lord Sanzo agreed to help us?”

Goku pulled his face into something that resembled an apologetic smile. “I'm sorry, but he didn't say anything about it. He didn't say no to the escort, though, so you might be able to talk him into it on the road.” He examined the contents of his mug for a moment. “Don't push him, though. He hates being pushed. An' he gets scary when he's angry. Maybe not angry enough to—” He stopped himself short and shook his head to clear it. “He probably wouldn't want to have anything to do with any of you anymore if he's really angry.”

“But he _has_ to!” Chandra sounded desperate. “The ghost is getting angrier; can't you hear him?”

Goku cocked his head. He could faintly make out the muted cry just on the edge of his hearing. It sounded furious, but there was also a sad echo to it that made his heart twist painfully. “I can hear it,” he said. “I— I saw, too, last night. There was a guy.” He wondered if the man got home safely, drunk as he was. “He thought he saw a ghost.” He sipped from his mug and didn't think of anyone else but the stranger.

“Goku. Son.” Dolkar’s voice was wobbly but firm. “I know Lord Sanzo’s got a lot of people asking him to do things for them, and I know he's probably sick of it, but this is _important_. People are panicking; the least that could happen is someone dying of fright.”

Goku nodded. “I'll try to convince him,” he repeated, putting emphasis on the word _try_ , “but I still can't tell him what to do. Sanzo wants to leave tomorrow, though, and I need to do a few things ‘fore we hit the road.” He slipped out of his chair and gave a cursory bow of his head in the direction of the two men. “Sorry I wasn't much help. Excuse me.” He fled.

He made his way to a small sheep–farm just outside the edge of the village, carrying a small basket of dumplings for the farmer and his family. He visited with them for a while, talking about this and that and sipping buttery tea. Goku informed the farmer that he and Sanzo wanted to depart the next day, and asked to take a look at their mules. The animals, along with a small wagon, had been Yaone's kindness; she said she didn’t want them to have to walk all the way back to China. It was more than Goku had expected, really, after everything they’d done at Houtou; Kougaiji had refused to even look at them. Goku didn't blame him one bit for that.

The mules were restless, snorting and stamping and occasionally rolling their eyes at the sky. The farmer’s young son came up to Goku as he vainly tried to calm them down.

“It’s the ghost,” the child said sombrely. “The animals can hear him, too. He’s angry because he’s dead.”

“What killed him?”

“Dunno what.” The boy scuffed his feet on the hard ground. “Old Dol said he was one of the crazy _youkai_ who died by the east road. There were _hundreds_ of them.” He turned to Goku then, eyes round and wide. “You’re gonna make the ghost go away, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Goku said softly. He wondered if this was how Sanzo felt every time someone asked him to do the impossible. _Please save my baby, Lord Sanzo. Protect our village, Lord Sanzo. Kill the_ youkai _, save the world._ If this was what being a sanzo priest was like, then Goku wouldn’t want to be around people a lot too. He shoved the thoughts away and grinned down at the little boy. “I’ll sure try, though! Do you have any baby sheep, and can I see them?”

 

“Sanzo?” Goku gently pushed the door open, bags of groceries cradled in his arms, the innkeeper’s niece trailing behind him with a tray of cups and plates. “Sanzo, I’m back.” He peered into the room and saw Sanzo lying motionless in bed, on his side and facing the far wall.

He fought down the panic rising in his gut and resisted the impulse to drop everything and run to Sanzo. He instead forced himself to take off his boots at the door, drop the bags at the foot of his own bed, and take the tray from the girl. He sent her off with a thank–you and a smile that he did not feel, and placed the tray on the table before going to Sanzo’s side with his heart in his throat.

Sanzo was still and unmoving, but now that he was closer Goku could see that he was breathing, slowly but evenly. He was still dressed in the black top and white jeans that he usually wore when not in public. His face was half–buried in the pillow, his legs tangled in a thin blanket. The bony bumps of his spine showed clearly through the tight material of his top. Golden hair spilled over the pillow; its jagged and uneven ends were almost unnoticeable for how much it had grown out. Goku carefully brushed away stray strands covering the scarred face and neck, then firmly took hold of a bare upper arm and shook gently. “Sanzo? Sanzo, wake up.”

He stood back as Sanzo’s whole body tensed up, seemingly contracting into itself, and slowly relaxed. Sanzo muttered something inaudible and sat up, covering a yawn and squinting against the light coming in from the window. “Goku. What is it?”

Goku exhaled a small sigh of relief, then put a smile on his face. “Lunch,” he announced brightly, going over to the table. “You told me to bring something up, so I did. Sorry I’m late; you must be hungry.” He removed the book, Sanzo’s glasses and the ashtray to the nightstand before setting out the food. He put at Sanzo's place a bowl of soup, a plate of bread and a cup of sweet black tea. “D’you want coffee? The innkeeper didn’t have any, but we still have maybe half a bottle of grounds left. I can make some if you want.”

“No, tea’s fine.” Sanzo threw off the blanket and moved to sit at the table. Goku sat in the other chair and poured himself a cup. He drank his tea and put more bread on Sanzo's plate and kept his bowl of soup topped up.

“That's enough, Goku,” Sanzo growled, waving him off after the second time he refilled the bowl. “Stop mothering me and eat.”

Goku obediently filled a bowl for himself, then dipped a piece of bread into the soup and eyed the soggy bread critically before popping it into his mouth. He reached for the next piece of bread and plopped it onto Sanzo’s plate, which earned him a glare. Sanzo didn't say anything else but he did finish his food, and that made Goku happy. Sanzo sipped his tea and stared out of the window.

Goku polished off the rest of the food, then stacked the dishes on the tray and took the whole thing to the door. “I'm going to return this,” he said, putting on his boots. “You need anything?”

“No. Maybe more tea.”

“‘Kay!” Goku shut the door behind him and trotted downstairs. He returned the tray to the innkeepers’ niece with another grin, got another blush and a sweet smile along with a promise for another pot of tea, then went to retrieve their laundry from her aunt. The clothes still hadn't completely dried out, though, and Goku told the lady that he'd come back for them at around dinnertime. He trotted back upstairs with a cup and a small pot of tea. Sanzo was still at the table, staring out of the open window intently. A thin hand raised, lit cigarette dangling between fingers, beckoning. “Goku,” he said quietly. “Come here. Do you hear that?”

Goku thought he already knew what he was going to hear, but he went anyway and cocked his head at the window. “What’s it sound like?”

“Screaming.”

 _Oh._ Goku could hear it, the faint cry filling the sky, sad and angry at the same time. The sound made him want to cry with it. “It's the ghost of the crazy _youkai_ ,” Goku said. “Don't look at me like that; the people ‘round here said so!”

“Then stop being stupid.” Sanzo cuffed him on the back of the head. He continued to frown at the window with the cigarette jammed between his lips.

Goku sighed and went to his bag. He rummaged around inside the pockets and took out a pen and a list written on a small sheet of paper, then gathered their packs and groceries on the floor. He found the carton of Marlboros in one of the bags and took it to Sanzo ( _make them carry their own drugs; it saves space for_ actual _necessities. Like food_ ). He went back to sit on the floor among the bags and got busy, slowly and methodically marking the list against his purchases as he put them away, making a note of things that they still needed or needed more of, crossing out items they probably wouldn’t need any longer, adding items at the end that he thought they'd need, and jotting down little notes in the margins to remind himself of additional issues that might come up. Then, just to keep his hands busy and his mind from wandering, he took out a new sheet of paper and rewrote the whole list, writing down the words as neatly and carefully as he could ( _steady strokes and even lines_ ), in the way that he had been taught. There really wasn't a lot to write, though, not the way there used to be. After all, two people needed only half as much of anything, maybe even less, as four. _No, five._

 

Goku was on the floor again later that night, leaning against the foot of his bed and folding clothes into neat piles to pack away into their bags. He worked slowly, keeping a surreptitious eye on Sanzo, who was leafing through another book. It was a rather large one this time, with a worn spine and the word _Grey_ in the title, which Goku thought was just a little weird because it had way too many pages just to describe a _colour_. Sanzo was in his usual place near the window, which was cracked open just enough to draw away the smoke and smell of cigarettes. Goku shook out, smoothed, folded, rolled, and tucked until the clothes were packed away so neatly that it might have been someone else doing it, and then he ran out of excuses to stay awake.

He didn't want to go to bed. He didn't think he could sleep, not with the way that sound almost constantly hovered in the air. Maybe if he focused a little harder he could tell what it was about the sound that sounded so familiar, but for some reason, something in him recoiled at the thought. He tossed and turned, fighting the heaviness in his eyes, until the echoing cries carried him into darkness.

 

On the morning of their departure, Goku had woken Sanzo up to coffee, a light breakfast, and his robes laid out over the back of a chair. The sheep–farmer had already been waiting in front of the inn with the mules when Goku brought a few bags downstairs, already hitched to the small wagon that was to carry their belongings. The animals had still been upset, almost more so than the previous day; they had stamped and snorted restlessly, and Goku had been afraid they'd spook and bolt.

“No worries,” the farmer had assured him. “They should calm down once you get them out on the road and away from _him_.” Goku hadn't been convinced, but he told himself that the guy knew what he was talking about. The farmer had also offered to stay with the wagon until it was loaded up and ready to go, which Goku had accepted with a profusion of thanks and more payment than he'd previously promised for boarding the mules.

 

Now, though, Goku chewed on his dry lower lip and glanced into the wagon. Sanzo had been mostly silent, almost brooding, ever since they left the village, although he was polite to their escort party. He wanted to ask him what's wrong, but with far too many strangers around for comfort, Sanzo would probably just shut down instead of opening up. Although they had been this way here many years before, Goku still wondered at the beauty of the landscape and, just for fun, tried to identify how many types of animals he saw that weren’t vultures or buzzards. Even so, he couldn't shake the terrible feeling that rose in his chest whenever he thought about just how _familiar_ the place looked. _Of course it looks familiar, we've been through here a very long time ago._

“Goku.” Chandra came up to him then, his face illuminated by the late afternoon sun. “We should stop for today and make camp here.”

Goku frowned. “There's plenty of daylight left.”

“We're getting close to the _youkai_ massacre site.” Chandra gestured to a pair of stone piles stacked on the sides of the road further down, one on each side. “We do _not_ want to spend the night among _them._ ” Although he was speaking to Goku, the placating gesture that he made then was directed at Sanzo, who only barely glanced in his direction. “We'll have little trouble getting past them within half a day, but we should leave that for tomorrow.”

Breaths steamed in the chill air as Goku helped Chandra and his men set up camp. Everyone kept throwing fearful glances at the sky or into the distance, as if expecting someone or something to appear to them. Two of Chandra’s men passed out some food and all of them sat around a small campfire, soaking in what warmth they could and trying to stave off the sense of unease looming in the air with small talk and jokes that, more often than not, fell flat. Sanzo sat with them, although he didn't speak to anyone unless spoken to, and never replied beyond a few short and clipped answers. He seemed lost in thought, staring into his bowl and picking at his food. Goku sat close by, eating silently, until Sanzo put his bowl down and stood.

Goku looked up at him. “Where’re you going?”

“Smoke.” He strode away, robes flapping in the evening breeze. Goku hurriedly cleaned his bowl and took off after Sanzo, warning off with a glance and a small shake of his head at those who noticed and rose to follow. He caught up to Sanzo and they walked yet further, stopping only when Sanzo dug out his pack of cigarettes and a lighter from somewhere among the folds of his robes. There was a crinkle, a rustle and a click, and sweet–smelling smoke rose into the air. Goku stood silently beside him, gazing westwards into the darkening sky where birds flew, searching for a place to land. The pale moon shone far above them, its faint light gradually overcoming the last rays of the setting sun.

Gravel crunched behind them. “Goku,” Chandra’s voice came calling softly. Goku turned around to see him hurrying over to their side. “Goku, it’s not safe here. Please come with Lord Sanzo back to—”

“We can handle ourselves,” Sanzo, who still had his back turned, cut him off with a voice like rust. “You can go back on your own. We’ll be there when we're done.”

“But, Lord Sanzo, it’s _dangerous_! There’s no telling what—”

Sanzo turned his head, and Chandra quailed at his sideways glare. He slipped his free hand into his robes and took out his silver gun, making sure Chandra could see it clearly, and held it loosely at his side. “Don’t worry about us.” Chandra held up his hands in surrender and backed away a few paces. The gun disappeared back into Sanzo’s robes.

“As you wish, Lord Sanzo.” He made to leave, but paused. “Hey,” he called out to someone, off to the side. “Hey, it’s dangerous out there!”

Goku turned to look. There, in the shadows beneath a tree a good distance away, was a man leaning against the gnarled trunk, his body bent over almost in half. One hand was held to his face, and the other braced against the tree. He seemed to be exhausted, or in pain.

“Are you all right?” Chandra called out again, hands cupped around his mouth, but there was no response. Instead, the man slid lower down the tree trunk until he was on the ground, his face buried in both hands. Chandra hollered again, but still the man didn’t reply. He took a deep breath and turned to Goku. “I’m going to check on him,” he declared. “He might need help. Please take Lord Sanzo back to camp.” He turned and jogged towards the tree and the man underneath it.

“I’m not done.” Sanzo pointedly took a long drag off his cigarette. Goku shrugged and turned forwards again, trying to focus on the empty, darkening sky above instead of the awful familiarity of the land around them.

A shout broke the silence. Goku jumped, turning towards the direction it came from; the man under the tree had not moved from where he was, but Chandra had fallen to the ground, as well. Goku exchanged a look with Sanzo, then bolted towards the tree, summoning his staff as he ran. Chandra had already scrambled to his feet and run away from the tree, on a path that led him straight into Goku, but Goku caught him before they collided, holding him up by the elbow. “What’s wrong?”

Chandra was incoherent and breathless, his eyes white and his face pale with fright. He pointed a shaking finger at the tree and the small figure hidden in its shadows. Goku pushed Chandra back, putting himself between him and the tree, staff at the ready. He heard Chandra run, skittering footsteps gradually fading away in the direction of the camp.

“Goku,” came Sanzo’s voice from behind, “what the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Goku answered without turning. He moved to get a closer look at the tree and the man, whose back was almost completely turned to them, underneath it. He was huddled at the base of the tree, hugging his knees, his face hidden in the crook made by his arms. Through the shadows, Goku could faintly make out the delicate tip of a _youkai_ ear peeking through a mass of shaggy hair. “Hey,” he called out softly, although the grip on his staff is anything but, “are you hurt?”

The _youkai_ man seemed to rouse, his head lifting up a little at the sound of his voice. Goku held his staff at the ready as the stranger slowly unfolded to a stand, clawed hands hanging loosely at his sides. The back of his head looked wet. He turned, and Goku’s heart froze.

The man stepped soundlessly from under the tree. The moonlight seemed to pass through him, colouring the ground under his feet the same pale white as his surroundings. His high collar was open to reveal a slender neck, where the shadow of a tendril trailed up his throat and over the left side of his face. The vine continued across the bridge of his nose and abruptly turned into a trail of blood; it ran like tears from his right eye, where a significant chunk of his cheekbone was missing, along with part of his ear, temple and the eye itself. Hakkai stared blankly at Goku with his remaining eye, looking lost, as though he didn't know who he was or how he got there. His lips moved, but Goku could hear nothing over the roaring in his ears. His staff fell uselessly from his numb fingers and dissipated into the air before it hit the ground.

Footsteps jolted Goku out of his daze; Sanzo had come up behind him. Hakkai’s gaze sharpened and focused on Sanzo, and his blank expression turned into a snarl of anger. He held his hands loosely at his sides, palms up, ready to strike.

“No.” Sanzo’s voice came out in a croak. “No,” he said again, louder this time. “ _You_ were the one who couldn’t get a grip. I did what I had to do.” He pushed Goku aside with a trembling hand; his gun was in the other hand, pointed directly at Hakkai’s face. “ _Weak_.”

A ragged scream tore through the air. Goku yelled and reached out for Hakkai at the first shot, but his image wavered and disappeared even before Sanzo had finished emptying the gun into him. The sound of gunshots died away but the screams went on and on and _on_ , full of pain and raw, visceral _fury_. Sanzo lowered his gun, breathing hard. Goku saw that his hands were shaking.

“Sanzo,” he said then, his voice almost drowned out by the sounds. “Sanzo, it's coming from around here.” He ran off without waiting for a reply, past the tree where Hakkai had been. The cries cut off abruptly as he topped the rise of a small hill. The sudden silence that assaulted him was so overwhelming, he could hear his heart pounding frantically in his ears. Goku looked around the barren landscape, searching for the source of the sounds. A movement caught his eye, and he turned to see a small, slightly moving patch on the ground, coloured the same pale white as the moonlight. The mound uncoiled with an angry hiss; a triangular head seemed to detach from it, rising on a snake–like neck to point directly at him, and it looked so familiar, like—

“ _Jeep?_ ”

Wings unfurled with a leathery rustle, but Jeep didn’t take off into the air. He just held them spread out to his sides, hissing and snapping and snarling, as if warning Goku away, as if Goku were an enemy. Goku could barely feel his legs, but he stumbled forwards somehow, and bent to pet Jeep, but the little dragon jerked his head away, growling horribly.

“Jeep,” Goku said again, and it felt like his heart was breaking. He could see now the tattered wings, the chipped horns, the broken claws. And, some distance behind the torn and outstretched wings, he could see a long mound, and the large stone partially buried upright at the end of the mound. And on top if it— on top of it.

A skeleton lay on top of it, bleached by the sun, starkly white under the moon, and half–buried by the sand that had blown over it over the years. Some dried–out scalp still clung stubbornly to the skull; long, dark–coloured hair fluttered weakly in the night breeze. A set of arm–bones stretched out over the grave in a skeletal embrace; like lost stars, three pinpoints of moonlight glimmered on the pieces of dull metal that lay scattered among fingerbones.

Boots crunched in the gravel behind Goku, carrying with it the acrid smell of gunpowder and tobacco and, from further away, soft voices and hushed exclamations. Jeep bristled and growled more loudly, his head swaying on the end of his neck as his gaze locked over Goku’s shoulder. His mane stood on end from head to tail as he backed away to stand in front of the grave. His wings flared wider as if to hide it from view; the gesture made him seem to grow bigger, somehow. He fell silent and a terrible, selfish relief briefly washed over Goku; then, that small mouth opened wide.

Jeep _screamed_. He screamed his grief for Hakkai and sorrow for Gojyo and hatred of the ones who left them behind. He screamed his defiance into the face of the ones who'd let them die, _all of them_ , and he screamed his loss into the heavens that stood by and allowed it to happen.

Goku’s throat felt tight as he stepped forwards into the face of that fury. Stones dug into his skin as he fell onto his knees in front of Jeep, but it didn’t hurt as much as the pain that grew and grew and threatened to tear free of his chest as he reached out again—

“Sorry,” he said dully. “Jeep. I’m sorry.”

—and gathered him up into his arms. Jeep fell silent and trembled in his hold. His hands held only scales and bones and dry, leathery skin where the scales had scraped off and not regrown. His fingers ran through the dull, dirty mane; it still felt like silk despite the grit tangled into it. He kept stroking, from top of head to tip of tail, over and over again, whispered apologies tumbling from his lips. Jeep trembled even harder and his whole body drooped. His head pushed into Goku’s neck, nuzzling, with a high, mournful keen.

The sound seemed to pry something loose from Goku’s chest. He hugged Jeep to himself and sobbed, head bowed over the emaciated little body, his tears soaking into the white fur of Jeep’s mane. He held the crying little dragon tighter and rocked back and forth with him.

“Gojyo,” he said finally, his voice breaking on the long–unsaid name. “ _Hakkai._ ”

A hand touched his back gently, and then a pair of arms enfolded him in a hug. Blinded by tears, he reached out and grasped a silk–covered arm. He clung to Sanzo, Jeep held between them, and buried his face in a too–thin shoulder. He wept like a child lost in a nightmare, wishing that he could open his eyes and wake up in the back of the Jeep, with Gojyo’s legs taking up too much space and Hakkai in the driver’s seat, smiling at him from the rear–view mirror.

Sanzo wondered, not for the first time, why this had to happen and what the Merciful Bitch would say— or do— if she were there, but he’d really rather just shoot her than listen to _anything_ she’d have to say, ever again. It was pointless, in his opinion, to brood on all the decisions he’d made, good or bad or futile, but as he held the shaking body in his arms, he decided to try and make things right this time.

“Come on, Goku,” he said, smoothing the young man’s hair back. “Let’s take them home.”


End file.
